Prologue and Chapter 1

PROLOGUE

In a darkened room, beneath an open window, a notepad fluttered its pages. Jumping and curling, the notepad revealed its deadly secrets to the waiting world. Page after scribbled page of script handwriting detailed horrors and dark wonders. Rituals of power, death and destruction were chronicled within the pages, immortalised in ink. Finally the gentle breeze stopped and the notepad slowly let its pages come to rest, open on one particularly nasty ritual. Dying sunlight lit a page that detailed a ritual of extended wealth and the powers that were needed to come by it.

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The moon made a brief appearance from behind a storm-laden cloud. Briefly its gentle light penetrated the sticky heat that engulfed the streets below. As quickly as it appeared, the moon silently slid away again and the heavy summer storm resumed its assault on the sleeping city below. Rain pounded the already soaked cobbles, filling cracks and causing potholes to overflow. Excess water rushed into the storm drains below the city, filling the sewers and raising the depleted water table. The streets of London were strangely empty for a Saturday night, the mixture of several weeks of dry heat and a weekend of storms keeping the late night revellers away.

In a dark apartment building, up a dark staircase, along a dark corridor and through a dark door was apartment 12. Behind the door with the brass number-plate was a spacious lounge/kitchen area. A Formica topped bar separated the small kitchen from the living area. Two modern metal bar stools stood beside the bar, a jacket draped over one of them. A shelf laden with the occupier’s books, videotapes, DVD’s and CD’s lined the wall. Two windows, one with floor to ceiling doors that opened out onto a balcony, looked out on to the street. Between the two windows stood an entertainment centre comprising of a widescreen TV, DVD and video machines and a stereo all set up for optimum use. White static crackled across the TV screen, the hiss quietly emitting from the four speakers set up around the room. In front of the television stood a low, glass-topped coffee table covered in empty pizza boxes, glasses half filled with red wine, overflowing ashtrays and a mirror smudged with white powder. Also on the mirror lay a powder-covered credit card, the remnants of a night of drugs. Under the table were a couple of empty wine bottles and a laptop computer with its low battery light flashing. Pieces of paper with quickly scrawled images littered the floor in front of an old and obviously comfortable sofa. A tiny sock covered foot brushed the wooden floor, occasionally twitching in the midst of a dream. On the sofa lay two people, their heads resting on the arms of the sofa, their legs tangled in the middle. One was female, shoulder length red hair falling into her face, hands tucked under her head. Her fingers were adorned with silver rings and a few silver necklaces hung with strange pendants intermingled with her hair. She was wearing black jeans and a tight black t-shirt, which, clung to her buxom figure. Her companion was male, long, wavy brown hair spread out over the arm of the sofa and spilling towards the floor. He looked peaceful and contented, lost in the world of dreams. Like the female, he was still dressed; wearing flared black trousers and an old baggy black t-shirt with a band logo on it. Welcome to the world of Rae and Rafferty, the collective minds behind Tripping the Light Fantastic, a comic strip, which detailed their daily lives and goings on in London.

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One Year Earlier . . .

It was a scorching summer day, the sun was beating down on a protesting London. People were doing everything to stay cool, from swimming in the city’s fountains to spending as much time as possible in the Underground system, despite the temperatures in the tunnels being at least 10 degrees higher than those on the surface. It was the rush of air that happened as a train sped from one station to another that the over-heated population wanted, the wonderful, warm breeze that passed through the deep tunnels.
At the same time, the annual film memorabilia fair was happening at Olympia. Halls were filled with hundreds of stalls selling every kind of film merchandising imaginable: magazines, videos, books, posters, models and many other items that would make people’s collections complete. TV and B movie stars were lined up to sign autographs and screenings of cult films, as voted for by readers of a film magazine, were being shown in a small tent outside.
The air inside the hall was hot and muggy, sun streaming in through windows set high in the walls. Air conditioning and carefully placed fans barely made a difference, occasionally rustling loose pieces of paper and discarded event programmes and only lowering the temperature a few degrees. Thousands of people, some dressed up as characters from their favourite films, wandered down the narrow aisles between the trestle tables and packing cases of film memorabilia, pausing only to rifle through stacks of magazines and posters in the hope of finding the one piece that would complete their collection. No one wanted to hang around longer than they had to, desperate to get somewhere cooler. Rafferty and Rae met at a stall selling rare and hard to find film posters. Each had ignored the other, their thoughts on cooler climates and where they were going to go once they escaped the stifling inferno. Within the piles, racks and boxes of posters was hidden the holy grail of posters. To both Rae and Rafferty, it was a prize find, an original poster advertising Ed Wood’s first film Glen or Glenda. Signed in one corner by the director himself, the poster was priced at more than either of them earned in a week and was worth far more than what it was priced at. Their hands had met, words had passed between them and little known trivia, in a battle to determine who was most deserving of such a hallowed prize, had filled the air until Rafferty, always the gentleman, handed it over to Rae. Finding a common interest between them, Rafferty invited Rae for a drink. A friendship had been forged over cigarettes and alcohol. Unfortunately, it turned out that Rafferty was only in London for a week, a trip away from work and his overbearing girlfriend. He had needed a break to clear his head and to think about his future. He wanted to leave Holland and come and live in London. Where did Rae live, he had asked, and did she want a flatmate? Through the smoke and dying light of the sun, Rae had laughed. She was stuck in a house share she hated, she had told him, somewhere on the outskirts of London. Her dream was to live in the centre of the city and have a life instead of working in the pubs, clubs and coffee-houses of the sprawling metropolis. She wanted to work outside of everyone else’s social life, wanted to experience what it was like to go into a club and be on the right side of the bar for a change instead of being the one who had to stay stone cold sober. A flat share, she told him, would certainly be considered.
Over the next few days, they consistently run into and met up with each other. On the last day of the convention, they swapped e-mail addresses and phone numbers and regretfully went their separate ways. Neither knew if the other would get in touch or if they would see them again.
Several months and a few short e-mails passed between them, the hurriedly written messages chronicling their collective pain, anguish and desperation to get out of their own personal hells. Both were feeling trapped, Rae had resorted to harming herself with razor blades and kitchen knives while Rafferty’s girlfriend had been threatening him with marriage and children. One night, after a particularly bad night of drunken people at work, Rae had come home to find a flashing light on her answering machine. Hitting the playback button, she was surprised to hear Rafferty’s lilting voice float up from the anonymous black box.
“Rae, it’s Rafferty,” the message had begun, “I’ve been trying to get hold of you all night but you must be at work. I’ve had enough. I’m quitting my job and I’m leaving my girlfriend. The girlfriend’s finally gone mad and my boss is pissing me off. I’m coming over to London. I’ve been looking at properties and I’ve found a couple that look promising. I’ve e-mailed them to you so check your mailbox. I’ll speak to you soon.”
The machine bleeped, signalling the end of the message and her room fell silent once again. Sitting at her computer, she turned the monitor on. In the bottom right hand corner, an envelope flashed, bringing Rae’s attention to a new message. Clicking on the envelope, her mailbox instantly appeared, a message from Rafferty at the top of the list of messages. Double clicking it, the message sprang open before Rae’s eyes. The message read:
Here are the properties I found. Hope one of them works.
Rafferty
There were two blue, underlined links, begging to be clicked on and their secrets revealed. Rae clicked on the first one and another window opened, the little world in the top right hand corner slowly revolving. Slowly, a page loaded revealing a flat for rent in the Bayswater area of London. It was beautiful, three minutes from the nearest tube station, two minutes from Kensington Gardens. It was on a quiet square, the area a hidden oasis of grass, trees and quiet, a sign that it wasn’t far from the secret gardens that Notting Hill was famous for. Pembridge Square was buried within the pretty London borough of Kensington, a place renowned for its beautiful gardens and palace. The flat wasn’t huge but it was open plan making it appear to be bigger than it was. It had a combined kitchen/living area, which formed the central hub of the flat. Off of that were two bedrooms and a bathroom. It was basic but it was exactly what they wanted and all for the bargain basement price of £850 a month. Without thinking, Rae had picked up the phone and dialled Rafferty’s number. After a few rings, a groggy Rafferty, obviously pulled from his slumber by the insistent ringing of the phone, had finally answered. Rae explained that she had looked at the properties he had e-mailed and was going to put a deposit on the Bayswater flat first thing in the morning. In Rae’s mind, property hunting wasn’t supposed to be this easy. It was almost too good to be true.

Eight short weeks later, two moving vans, parked nose to nose, were outside a big Victorian house. Boxes, bags and assorted bits and pieces cluttered the clean, central London pavement. Rafferty and Rae stood on the stoop and looked around their new surroundings. It was a beautiful day, the leaves rustling in a light breeze. Birds sang and fluffy white clouds drifted lazily across an azure blue sky. It seemed to be perfect, too perfect.

CHAPTER 1

The poster that had started it all now took pride of place on one of the walls. Beside it, nearly hidden by the cluttered shelves, hung a framed caricature of the flatmates, pulling a Charlie’s Angels guns drawn pose, sketched in a moment of stoned inspiration.
Rae was the first to be woken from her hung-over slumber by the shrill ringing of the telephone. Rubbing her forehead, she wearily climbed from the warm womb of the sofa, being careful not to destroy the scattered pieces of artwork or upend any of the overflowing ashtrays that scattered the floor. The ringing pierced into her pain, causing red-hot knives of agony to sear through her skull.
‘Yeah, yeah. I’m coming,’ she said to the shrilling object in an attempt to quieten it.
Reaching out, she picked it up and cautiously put it to her ear, suspecting that it might bite.
‘Yes?’
‘Ms Smith?’ an official sounding voice enquired.
‘Yes?’ she replied, hoping that whoever was calling would take the hint that she had just dragged herself from the pits of hell and would like to go there ASAP.
‘This is Roy Lloyd, editor of Metal Mayhem. Just a quick reminder that we need your copy by 5pm tomorrow.’
Rae rubbed the crusty sleep from her eyes, trying to comprehend what was being said.
‘Don’t worry,’ she replied, ‘I haven’t forgotten. You’ll get it.’
‘Ok,’ came the voice, ‘it’s just that we’ve normally heard from you by now and it’s been a bit quiet on the Tripping The Light Fantastic front recently.’
Tripping the Light Fantastic had come about one drunk, stoned night. Hours of talking between the pair had brought them to the realisation that they were getting no younger. Time was flying away from them and life wasn’t what it used to be. They found themselves, in those blissful hours, moaning about their daily life in London and deliberating as to whether their move to the capital had been a good idea. In one frenzied moment, Rafferty had grabbed pencil and paper and had begun to scribble down Rae’s rant. A few moments later and the first of an endless series of comic strips were born, their cartoon images forever ingrained in pencil. After carrying on with it for a few weeks, they began to publish it on the Internet. Within days, their site had begun to gather hundreds of hits a day and had generated e-mails from many amused people, all asking, begging for the next strip to be put up. Rafferty and Rae couldn’t keep up with the demand for their new-found comic genius. Internet based fame had followed with legions of rabid people awaiting the next instalment of comic ranting and raving. A few days later and their dreams were realised when they received a phone call from a national music magazine, asking to publish the strip in monthly instalments. Rafferty and Rae had agreed on the spot.
Running a hand through her ruffled hair, Rae changed the receiver to her other ear. She stifled a yawn as she spoke.
‘I know. We’ve been quite busy the past couple of weeks.’
There was a pause and the crackle of the caller pausing rippled down the line. She could imagine the editor nodding, as if he understood what was going on in their lives.
‘Ok,’ he said, ‘just checking in. Speak to you soon Ms Smith.’
‘Bye,’ she whispered and replaced the receiver.
Turning round, she looked at the still sleeping Rafferty. In the few moments that she had been on the phone he had instinctively spread himself out, his long limber legs over stretching the opposite arm of the sofa. Typical man, Rae thought as she picked up a packet of cigarettes and shook one out. Lighting it and taking a deep drag, she walked into the kitchenette and hit the ‘start’ button on the coffee machine. Other than her laptop, the coffee machine was her most prized possession, a hundred pound’s worth of computerised coffee making equipment. Rafferty had commented that if it was smart enough to know how and when she liked her coffee, why couldn’t it do the cooking and cleaning as well. As it gurgled and dripped, Rae contemplated on the day ahead. Really she didn’t want to be thinking about what she had to do straight after waking up. The sun, it seemed, had only just come up although the clock on the cooker said that it was just after 9am. Its early morning light spilled through the big windows, lighting and warming the flat. Rae rubbed her eyes, the realisation that she’d only had three hours sleep slowly sinking in. Picking up a clean mug, she poured herself a hot, thick cup of coffee, the smell activating her tired brain. Not caring for milk or sugar, she sipped at the expensive Dutch coffee, a gift from Rafferty’s twin brother on his last visit. Kristjan, Rafferty’s older brother by two minutes, regularly came over to see them, bringing Rae gifts of the expensive coffee that her taste buds had become acquired to. Walking over to the coffee table, she picked up the TV control and flicked the channel to one that was more interesting than white static. A daytime chat show flickered onto the screen, a discussion about contraception, teenage pregnancy and truancy from school was being fought out. Rae rested her mug on the dining table and sat down, flicking the ash from her cigarette into a nearby ashtray. Taking the last possible drag from it, she stubbed it out. Beside her stood Rafferty’s drawing board, arched at an angle only he could work at. Reaching out a hand, Rae tiredly touched the edge of it. Her fingers were met with cold, hard wood. Nope, she thought, he hasn’t done the strip yet. The scenes on the TV depressed her, especially at such an early hour of the morning. How people could go on national TV and talk about their personal lives, spilling their secrets for the world, she didn’t know. She aspired to not be like the people on the television, not having to stoop to going on TV to get famous. Unfortunately, in this day and age, it seemed perfectly normal. Draining the last dregs of coffee, Rae got up and turned the television off, not wanting to subject herself to the mind-numbing drivel any longer. Turning back to the sofa, Rae surveyed the sleeping Rafferty. He looked so peaceful in his sleep, unlike the drug and alcohol-induced sleep that she’d ridden out. But he had to get up. There was work that needed doing and it needed doing as soon as possible. Sighing, she stepped over the debris of the night before, promising herself that this wasn’t going to happen again and grabbed one of Rafferty’s socked feet. Shaking it, she attempted to wake him.
‘Come on. Time to get up.’
The sleeping mass of clothes and hair mumbled and rolled away from her. Rae sighed and tried again.
‘Now, Raff, getting up time is now. We’ve got a deadline to meet and I can’t do it with you asleep.’
Crouching beside the sofa, Rae brushed the soft hair away from Rafferty’s head and placed her lips by his ear. Gently she blew against his ear lobe.
‘If you wake up, I’ll give you a blow job,’ she whispered to the comatose artist.
The reaction was amazing, something that Rae couldn’t have imagined in a million years. Rafferty sat bolt up right, hair streaking his face, eyes wide, a look of startled perplexion on his face.
‘Sasha,’ he said.
Trying to contain her laughter, Rae sat beside him on the sofa.
‘Sorry. It was me,’ she reached out a hand to ruffle his hair, ‘I’m sure Sasha will be round later. Have you got to go to work?’
Rafferty turned to look at her, his brown eyes tired. Mumbling, he brushed the hair out of his eyes.
‘Not till two.’
Rae pushed her hair behind her ears and turned to him.
‘Roy called,’ she said.
Rafferty looked at her, sleep still crusting up his eyes.
‘Roy who?’ he replied.
‘Roy from Metal Mayhem. He wants the next copy by tomorrow at 5.’
Rafferty yawned, giving Rae a look at his fillings. She recoiled, really not wanting to see the inside of his mouth.
‘It’s on the drawing board. Take it over to him, why don’t you?’
Rae sighed.
‘Are you sure it’s finished?’ she asked, a look of disgust crossing her face as he yawned again.
‘Yes, it’s finished.’
Getting up, Rae walked over to the dining room table, peering over the top of the drawing board. Clipped to it was the finished strip, telling the story of Rafferty and Rae going to a gig in central London and being surrounded by people who were too young to remember the band the first time round. When she had been watching TV, Rae was sure that there had been nothing on the drawing board, no paper, no finished copy. Rae turned back to Rafferty, a confused look sweeping across her face.
‘I’m sure . . .’
Rafferty silenced her with a look, which told her to ask no more questions. Shrugging, Rae walked away and headed towards her room.
‘I’m going to go and get milk.’
She was sure it hadn’t been there before.

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Rafferty sat on the sofa, hands on his knees, watching as Rae disappeared into her room. He looked around himself in the way only someone who has just woken up can. His mind mentally checked things off; laptop humming away, coffee machine hissing occasionally as it let off steam, birds singing outside. In his still sleepy state, images from his past, still lingered in his mind.
Rafferty’s mind drifted back to when he was twenty, young and naïve; innocent and unknowing of the world that existed beyond his hazy mind. He had been arrested, during a drug’s raid on a friend’s house, for possession of amphetamines. A search of Rafferty’s basement flat had thrown up a meth lab. Although he had no interest in the effects of amphetamines, Rafferty had discovered a certain talent for cooking up variants of drugs. Consequently, he had been charged, put on trial and put in prison for six years. The prison was big, a cold, heartless place. As he’d been led in, he’d noticed men watching him, eyes focused on his young body. He’d dropped his head on the shameful walk to his cell, his hair hiding his eyes from those that watched him. The politics of being in prison had never been explained to him, no-one had ever told him what could happen while he was behind bars, no-one had explained what could happen to him or how to look after himself. He was placed in a cell with another man, older than him, serving a ten-year sentence for manslaughter. Rafferty had had no idea what awaited him when the heavy metal door fell shut.
Shaking his head, Rafferty tried to get rid of the memories but he knew that they were forever imprinted upon his brain. Every time he slept, they were there, the memories, the images, the sounds, and the smells of the past tormenting him. He had never told Rae of his past, about where he had been and what had happened. She knew that he had used to dabble in drugs but she didn’t know that he had spent time behind bars for them. He had no intention of ever letting her find out about it, he didn’t want to scare her, not being able to bear the thought of not having Rae in his life. Rae was his little ray of sunshine, his lucky charm. It was she who had suggested the comic strip and she was the one who had built the website and sold it to a magazine. She had turned his life around and he was grateful for it. Getting to his feet, Rafferty stretched his tall, lithe frame, feeling and hearing as his vertebrae clicked back into place. Sleeping on the sofa had been comfortable but hadn’t been very good for his already tired joints. Slowly he loped to the kitchen, hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders slightly slumped. Mornings were not his favourite time of the day especially after a night plagued with bad dreams and memories. Taking a mug from a shelf, he poured himself a cup of Rae’s special brew, knowing that she wouldn’t mind if he had some. As he turned to the fridge, his eye caught the drawing board and the copy that was clipped to it. Had it been there the night before? He thought to himself. He was sure he had been working on it but the drugs he had consumed the night before had impaired his memory. Shrugging, he turned back to the fridge, opening the door as he did. Reaching inside, his hand brushed a small glass test tube, which was propped in the part of the door used for putting eggs. Taking it out, Rafferty shook it and held it up to the light. A thick red liquid swirled around, the liquid reflecting and refracting the light. He was surprised Rae hadn’t found it. If she had, she would probably have gone mad. Rae liked a clean kitchen; Rafferty had learnt that unknown and unhealthy food objects that didn’t fit into any of her known categories were disposed of fast. Reaching further into the fridge, Rafferty stashed it beside the fan, the lip of the test tube stopping it from slipping through the grille to the next shelf.

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Rae walked along the Bayswater Road, heading for the corner shop. It was more expensive but it saved a trip to the supermarket. She could only be bothered with the supermarket once a week at most. The nearest one was the other side of Notting Hill and she really couldn’t be bothered. Even though it was still early, it was already humid. Rae could feel another storm brewing. The air was still and barely breathable. Sweat dripped down Rae’s back, not really helping with cooling her down rather making her feel hot and dirty. Rae had tried her best to dress for the heat but no matter how little she seemed to wear, it was always too hot. A long multi-coloured cotton skirt flapped around her legs while a black strappy top exposed enough skin to allow the slight breeze to tickle it. Her hair was twisted and clipped to the top of her head with a slender silver clip, a fairly normal style for Rae to wear her hair. The breeze around her neck was a welcome relief from the heat. Sighing with relief, she turned into the air-conditioned haven of a shop.
Like a lot of independent shops in London, it was tiny and cramped. One long wall was covered with magazines for every walk of life. Along the opposite wall, only a few feet from the other wall, were sweets and chocolates for everyone. Sandwiched in the middle of the tiny space was a line of shelves, stocked with the staples of life, sugar, bread, paper, pens, and tampons, among many other items. Close to the counter, at the far end of the shop was a small fridge that was packed with soft drinks, sandwiches and milk. Behind the counter sat a bored looking man, a newspaper open in front of him. He eyed Rae suspiciously as she edged between the close shelves. Reaching for the fridge door, she opened it, pulling out a small plastic pint bottle of semi-skimmed milk. Placing it on the newspapers that decorated the counter, Rae reached into a small shoulder bag, rummaging for change. The bored man stood up, towering over her, a knarled old hand held out for money.
‘Fifty seven pence,’ a gruff voice demanded.
Taking her hand out of the little black bag, she placed an assortment of coins into his hands.
‘Thanks,’ she whispered, before turning to leave.
Rae had grown up in a safe home, surrounded by warmth and love. She’d been brought up to believe that whatever she wanted to do, she could do. Her life had been fairly sheltered, having been brought up with standards and morals. Her family had pushed her to her limits, teaching that she needed to live her life to her fullest potential. At the age of nineteen, she had finally flown the family nest and moved to London to study, hoping to chase and catch her dreams. She had spent three years studying for a degree in English and had only just scraped a 2:1. After that, she had left university, hoping to get a job at a newspaper or other periodical, only to find that most university leavers, herself included, were working low paid, menial jobs. Jobs in coffee shops, pubs and clubs had come and gone, one job never lasting more than a few months before she found her hallowed writing job. Finally, she felt like she was getting there, grasping that little piece of history that was destined to be hers.
Living in London had always been a passion for Rae. The hustle and bustle of a big city, thousands of different sights, smells and sounds to experience every day, the excitement of not knowing whether she was going to make it off the underground alive, all left her in a state of exhilaration. Rafferty couldn’t understand her excitement, her determination to explore every nook and cranny of London, he having spent most of, if not all of, his life living in a city. She had come from the backwaters, little nondescript towns where nothing happened and the only entertainment was to get drunk on cheap cider or get pregnant. But now she had a new world at her feet, a world waiting to be explored and documented and finally illustrated into a humorous but very true account of someone living in the Big City. Behind every nook and every cranny a new adventure awaited her.
She had to admit that the strip they did between them didn’t bring a great deal of money in, at least not enough to cover the rent. She kept her expenses covered by writing articles for various newspapers and magazines. Rafferty worked for an advertising agency, coming up with the slogans and adverts that eventually found their way onto the radio, television and cinema screens around the country. Between them, they earned less than they’d like to but enough to give them little creature comforts that they enjoyed. The daily grind of sitting at a computer was what Rae had dreamed of for many years. Being able to get up late, sit on the balcony with a coffee and her laptop, writing 2,000 words for Time Out before going out, catching a tube into the city and grabbing lunch with Rafferty. Plenty of part time jobs had come and gone for her before she had gotten to this point and now, still in her youth, she was able to enjoy herself. She found she only really worried about little things like money when the bills came floating through the letterbox once a month. She had come across the Time Out job purely by accident. A customer at the coffee shop she had been in had read some of Rae’s work, writings that she had posted on the Internet. The customer had been working for Time Out at the time and had recommended Rae to the magazine. A few days later, Rae had received a phone call asking her to write a monthly column on life in London. It had all happened so fast, like something out of a film. She’d found out that she’d be making enough money to quit the job she’d been working and go and live the life of a writer. So she’d happily quit. Other than bills and rent, life seemed perfect.
Outside of the shop, the heat hit Rae like the opening of an oven door. She took a step back and a deep breath before stepping forward and onto the pavement. The heat travelled up through the thin soles of her sandals, making every step harder. Walking back towards the flat, she found herself walking level with Hyde Park. It was one of the reasons she had picked the flat. She loved Hyde Park, the beautiful haven in the middle of the busy city. There had been many times when she had sat in the park, laptop in front of her, looking for inspiration, watching people come and go. When she needed to sit, relax and think she would take her laptop to the Peter Pan statue. Although technically not in Hyde Park, it was a closer to her flat and reminded her not to take life too seriously. Surrounded by trees and bushes that provided shade in summer and cover from the rain, she could be by herself, escaping the flat for a little while. She enjoyed sitting there during the summer storms, listening to the sound of the rain bouncing off the leaves. It would send shivers down her spine, little spasms that made her skin tingle.
Beyond the statue and the Serpentine was a group of trees that she never ventured in to. Even during the day, the small copse of trees had a sinister and boding feel to it. Rae had heard many stories, tall tales and urban legends about the trees from gruesome executions to, more recently, stories of murders and black magic. A couple of the local papers had picked up on the stories, fabricating them even more with tales of wild animals and of witches dancing naked around open fires. Stories of the area being haunted by long dead royalty and Victorian murderers also abounded, being recalled by tour guides and locals alike. She shuddered as she looked across the park towards them. She had never stepped foot in there and planned on never going in.

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Rafferty really didn’t want to be at work. The project he was assigned to was driving him slowly nuts. All he wanted to do was bang his head against the nearest brick wall and hope that it would put him out of his misery or take him back to a world outside of writing the latest catchy slogan. He had tried clicking his heels together three times but it had all been in vain. When he’d opened his eyes he’d found himself still in his cramped office. How did you market the next sugar free, caffeine laden energy drink? Writing something catchy that would have everyone saying was proving harder than he thought. In a fit of madness, he’d gone out and bought every glossy men’s magazine he could find. It was a last ditch attempt to find out what the man of the 21st century wanted. Nearly all of them had semi-naked women on the cover. If they didn’t have semi-naked women on the cover then it was a flashy sports car. A quick flick through during his tube ride to work had brought him to the conclusion that every man wanted a thin, big breasted blonde supermodel and for the England football team to play (and win) an international tournament every day of the week. Rafferty couldn’t believe that this was what the world was coming to. Although he wasn’t a fan of football, he could, as a man, understand the attraction to women. Supermodels weren’t really his cup of tea but he could understand the want for something that was unobtainable. It would take away some of the pain of day to day life to go home to a supermodel. For now, Sasha, his estate agent girlfriend, would do. They had met through mutual work friends and had decided to give a relationship a go. They had been together for the last six months although things had been turning sour recently. She had accused him of becoming withdrawn and despondent but that was Rafferty through and through. He had never been very outgoing, always shy, always the quiet one. He didn’t want to go out every night. He had few people he could call close friends. Sasha didn’t want him to live with Rae anymore, wanted him to move in with her, his girlfriend. She said it was bad for him to be living with one woman and dating another. Rafferty didn’t agree with her, recently preferring Rae’s company to Sasha’s. Rae was, after all, his flatmate. He wouldn’t be living with her if he didn’t like her. She was a good person, friendly and nice with plenty of qualities that he approved of.
Sighing, he turned back to the pile of magazines that sat beside his computer. His desk wasn’t cluttered but it wasn’t exceptionally tidy either. Other than the computer, there was a pot of assorted pens and pencils, a tape recorder sat on a ledge behind him, allowing him to swing round and use it if he needed to. It wasn’t the biggest office in the world but it was better than being thrust into the general office pool out in the main body of the building. A corkboard on the wall had various bits and pieces, a menu for the take away downstairs, a photo of Sasha, a cartoon of him and Rae. A window looked down on the street below, letting him idle away many a slow hour people watching.
As he reached for the first in the pile of glossy magazines, his eyes came to rest on his latest purchase. A beautiful black leather bound book that he’d found in a little second hand bookshop in Camden. The heavy tome was old, just over 150 years old according to the first page. The pages were cracked and old with age and the edges were gilt in gold. Livre Des Ancients was etched in gold along the spine.
‘Book of Ancients,’ he whispered to himself, his limited knowledge of French slowly translating it.
The book was dark, not just in nature but also in appearance. A fly page at the front declared that it had been written by Angelique Diable in 1850. Her handwriting scrolled across the page in an introduction. Rafferty’s knowledge of French easily translated it. The introduction spoke of great power and how it was an evil power, not to be used by the unwise or unskilled. It was bound in aged, cracked black leather. The pages were of a black parchment, the writing in faded white ink. Strange illustrations, symbols and sigils mingled with hundreds of pages of cramped, hand-written text. The pages felt old to Rafferty’s fingers, as if some kind of protective layer had been worn away, leaving rough, mixed fibre pages in their place.
He had been inexplicably drawn to it and had brought it in the name of research although, deep down, he knew there was a darker reason for his buying it. Wanting a new life and not knowing where to starting in obtaining it had been a good start, he’d decided. Everything about the book screamed a dark purpose. Reaching out, he turned the cover, listening to the first page crackle ominously and he smiled knowingly to himself. A glint shimmered through his eyes and rapidly disappeared as he read page after page of text, it slowly sinking into and changing his whole being.
Suddenly, the ringing of the phone on his desk dragged his attention from the book. Reluctantly, he put it down and picked up the receiver.
‘Hello, Rafferty De Jong speaking,’ he answered the phone.
‘Hi, it’s me,’ Rae’s voice travelled into his ear, ‘fancy grabbing some lunch?’
Rafferty glanced up at the clock, the hour hand gradually working its way to mid-day.
‘Sure, why not,’ he replied, ‘where are you?’
‘Outside.’
Getting up, he walked over to the window, the phone receiver still pressed to his ear, and pulled the blinds open. Odd bits and pieces feel to the floor as the long phone cable snagged across the desk. Looking down into the street below, he saw Rae leaning against the wall across the road, staring up at his window. As she saw him, she smiled and waved. He returned her smile.
‘Ok, I’ll be down in a minute,’ he said, before hanging up.

------)()(------

Support Your Local Coffee Shop said the sign in the window of the funky little coffee shop. A brightly painted wooden sign proclaimed that the coffee shop was called Medina. Flowers decorated the windows and people cluttered the tiny shop and the pavement outside, drinking coffee and smoking.
Inside was as bright as the outside, with colourful plants and murals hanging on the walls. A heavy smell of coffee and smoke lingered in the air, dulling the light that streamed in through the big windows. Crystals and painted pieces of glass hung in the windows, filtering the light into its primary colours.
Rafferty and Rae sat in a window seat, sipping from bowl like cups of coffee and eating pastries, enjoying the sun and a cigarette. Rae rested her head on her hands and looked out of the window, watching people walking through Camden, laden with bags or just enjoying a day out. She turned back to Rafferty and took a drag from the cigarette she had clutched in her hand.
‘How’s your day been?’ she asked, looking up into his eyes.
He shrugged and took a sip of coffee, slowly swallowing it.
‘It’s been ok,’ he replied, ‘this project is tough.’
Taking a cigarette from a packet, he put it in his mouth and lit it, a little plume of smoke drifting away into the already smoky atmosphere.
‘I mean, how do you market yet another energy drink? The market’s been flooded with them but the makers are saying this one is different.’
Nibbling on her pastry, Rae breathed in through her nose.
‘Is this the no sugar, high caffeine one?’ she asked.
Rafferty nodded, breathing deeply from the cigarette. Rae relaxed for a moment and let her mind wander, running through the possibilities of possible word arrangements that Rafferty could use. Her eyes closed as the possibilities sped past her mind. Snapping her mind back, she turned to Rafferty.
‘How about using the slogan ‘All the caffeine minus the sugar?’ she said.
He looked at her and smiled.
‘I think you might be onto something there,’ he said, his smile growing, ‘I might just be able to work with that.’
Rafferty reached across the table and grabbed by the back of her neck. Pulling her towards him, he planted a kiss on her forehead.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
She smiled and lowered her head, averting her eyes. Quietly she sipped at her coffee.
‘So what’s your day been like?’ he asked, changing the subject.
‘Not a lot happening at the minute,’ she said, shrugging and smiling slightly, taking another bite of the pastry as she did, ‘I need to get that strip over to the editor but that’s about it. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of work around at the moment although I’ve been asked to write an article about living life in London.’
Rafferty looked at her and raised an eyebrow.
‘Really? What are you going to write about?’
‘I don’t know,’ she replied, ‘moan about the tube and the tourists, rave about the nightlife and rant about the cost of housing. Any other ideas?’
He shook his head slowly, thinking as he did, loose strands of hair tangling round his wire framed glasses. Reaching up, he untangled them and tucked them behind an ear.
‘I’ll probably think of something later,’ he said, drinking the last of his coffee, ‘right now my mind’s in other places.’
Rae nodded.
‘I understand.’
Looking at his watch, he picked up his cigarettes and stood up, stuffing them into a pocket. He looked down at Rae. She was still picking at the pastry. A few crumbs tickled her top lip. Smiling at her reached out a hand and gently brushed them away, shaking the crumbs off his hand as he did.
‘You had a few crumbs round your mouth. Didn’t want you embarrassing yourself.’
She smiled up at him, a warm, caring smile. Rafferty felt his heart jump as he looked down at her.
‘I’ve got to go back to work,’ he bent down and kissed the top of her head, ‘I’ll see you later, ok?’
Rae looked up at him, her right hand around her coffee cup, poised to take a drink.
‘Ok,’ she replied, ‘I’ll see you later.’
He smiled and left, closing the brightly painted red door behind him. Rae stared off into space and took another sip of coffee. Reaching into the black shoulder bag she carried, she took a notepad and pen out. Opening the notepad, she began to scribble ideas for the latest article she had been asked to write, noting down all of her loves and hates of London, ranging from her complaints about the tube to her love of sitting in Hyde Park and watching the sun set. Ideas flowed easily, her writing unable to keep up with them.

Why I Hate London

The Tube is crap – too many people, too little space, and too many trains on too little track.

Tourist Season – All year round, a never-ending barrage of big rucksacks and people asking for directions. I don’t hate tourists I just hate the hold ups.

Too expensive – if you don’t earn 500k a year then you can’t buy a property and you’re stuck with renting.

Why I Love London

Nightlife – The best place in the country, no matter what you want, be it a nightclub or a late night coffee shop then you’ll find it in London.

Transport – despite it being the butt of most people’s complaints, it’s not half bad. Tube, buses and trains run pretty regularly.

Parks – Plenty of green space to go and chill out. Especially beautiful during the summer, plenty of entertainment during the summer months.

Doing stuff – plenty of museums, theatres, cinemas, pubs, clubs, gigs etc to go to. Enough to keep you busy for years.

Eventually her ideas slowed down. Putting the note book and pen away, she drained the last of her coffee and followed in Rafferty’s footsteps onto the street outside.

------)()(------

Rae sat on the sofa, a fan at her feet in an attempt to get rid of the sticky heat that bombarded her. The storm that had occurred the night before was all but a memory, the hot weather resuming its assault. It was late afternoon and the sun was streaming through the big windows. Even though she had all of them open, it didn’t help. The heat was strong and dry. Wearing nothing but a long t-shirt, the writer sat with her feet up on the table, her laptop resting on her knees. The TV was on, a big budget action film blasting through the speakers. Rae alternated between watching the screen and tapping away at the keyboard. She wasn’t really interested in her work, more in what was happening on-line. She had turned the flat into a wireless Internet hub. A little blue box was plugged into the phone point where her broadband connection would normally have been inserted. Cards inside of her laptop and desktop computers allowed her to surf the Internet anywhere in the house, including out on the balcony. This, she had admitted, was a bad move because it meant she could wile away the hours instead of doing some work. Rafferty had added a wireless network card to his laptop as well and, Rae had decided, they seemed to spend more time chatting in cyberspace than face to face. The chat programs they had loaded onto their computers had proved useful when one was deep in work and the other needed to get hold of them. They’d kept their user ID’s secret to stop rabid fans from getting hold of them. Rafferty also had a copy of one of the chat programs on his computer at work so that if Rae didn’t feel like calling she’d just ‘page’ him to let him know her lunch plans. She still enjoyed talking face to face with him and she was upset that the Internet and chat programs were taking the place of real face to face conversations. She was trying to use hers less and physically go and find Rafferty when her work would allow her.
Right now, she was surfing Tripping The Light Fantastic’s official site, a veritable oasis of past strips and official merchandising thrown together in the world of cyberspace. She had logged onto the forum to see what people were saying about them and to quash any rumours that had started. Over the past few weeks, there had been gossip that Rafferty was going to quit illustrating the strip and that Rae was preparing to bring someone in. A member, who referred to themselves as ‘Informed Source’ has been posting that the relationship between Rae and Rafferty was breaking up, that Rafferty was becoming reclusive and not talking to Rae. Rae had been logging in every day for the last month to reply to the threads that were popping up. It didn’t matter how many IP addresses they banned, their ‘Informed Source’ kept popping up. They had racked their brains, trying to work out who it was but to no avail. Rae had run different IP tracing programs to try and find them but each Internet Protocol address showed up with a different location. It could only mean that whoever it was also seemed to be using a program to hide their location. Rae sighed and stared at the computer screen. Today there was a new message and new IP address.

Rafferty is going to stop working with Rae on TTLF. Apparently, he has other things on his mind and is having problems with his girlfriend. He doesn’t want to be involved with it anymore. Rae is looking for a new illustrator. E-mail her with examples of your work.
Posted by Informed Source at 15.56pm

Rae snarled, her rarely seen temper flaring up. She had been told that she had been lucky enough to not only inherit her father’s brains but also his volatile temper. It rarely came out to play but when it did it could be dangerous. She flexed her fingers, preparing to write a scathing reply. Her fingers brushed the keyboard, feeling the smoothness of the keys, preparing to launch a counter attack. Suddenly, they burst into action.

I’d like to correct a few things that ‘Informed Source’ has posted.
1) Rafferty is not giving up on TTLF. It will carry on running as normal. We have plenty of material to be getting on with so it won’t be ending any time soon.
2) As far as I know, Rafferty is not having any problems. He’s one of my closest friends and I expect he’d tell me if he had any problems either in his personal or professional life. Don’t forget, we do live together so we know everything about each other.
3) Rae isn’t looking for a new illustrator. Please don’t send examples of your work. I get enough e-mails as it is and don’t have time to reply to requests for jobs.
We DON’T KNOW who this ‘Informed Source’ is. We have blocked numerous IP addresses but they keep coming back. We ask all of our forum members not to encourage this person into posting any more lies about TTLF or about our personal lives.
Thank you and I look forward to speaking to you all soon.
Rae
Posted by Rae at 18.37pm

Sighing, Rae sat back and stared at the screen, hoping that this would be the end of it. She knew it wouldn’t be, she knew whoever it was would be back. People had accused them, Rae and Rafferty, of posting the accusations in order to gain more site hits. There had also been rumours that it was the magazine publishers posting the messages. All of these suggestions seemed unlikely. She knew that neither herself nor Rafferty would put anything like that on the site and she knew that the publishers wouldn’t either. They all had more pressing things to do other than making up rumours. Sitting up straight, Rae shook her head from side to side, clicking her neck back into place. Suddenly the front door slammed shut. Looking up, Rae watched as Rafferty walked into the flat.
‘Evening. How was work?’
He grunted at her and dropped a bag onto the dining table. Rae’s eyes tracked him.
‘That bad?’
Without replying, he dropped onto the sofa. Rae turned to him.
‘What’s up? It can’t be that bad.’
Without looking at her, he replied:
‘Maybe, maybe not.’
Reaching out, Rae started to massage his shoulder with one hand, the other hand balancing the laptop on her knee.
‘You can tell me,’ she said.
She watched as a little smile crept across his face. He moaned quietly.
‘You can keep doing that if you want.’
Rolling her eyes in mock despair, Rae put the laptop on the floor and knelt on the sofa.
‘Turn round then,’ she said, patting his back.
Rafferty turned, his back to her, head lowered as Rae set to work easing the knots out of his muscles. Her fingers worked swiftly, feeling out the tight muscles under his skin, kneading and prodding them back into place. His skin was soft and silky and Rae enjoyed touching it, enjoyed letting her fingers creep into the nap of his neck and tangle in the long strands of hair that lay there. Quiet moans emitted from deep inside Rafferty.
‘Is that ok?’ Rae asked.
He nodded slowly, obviously enjoying her touch. Her fingers moved up the base of his neck, reaching up into the warmth of his hair, working at the tight muscles that wrapped around his neck and head.
‘Sasha coming round tonight?’
Again, he nodded. Pulling away, Rae sat down, curling her legs beneath her reaching down to pick up the computer. Rafferty turned to her, a slightly pissed off look on his face.
‘Why did you stop?’ he asked.
Rae looked up from the flickering screen of the laptop.
‘My fingers got tired. Is that a crime now?’
Rafferty shrugged and sat back. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a little tin. She heard as he opened it, the rustle of cigarette papers and plastic coming from inside it.
‘No.’
He looked at the TV, the film that Rae had put on still playing.
‘What’s this?’
Rae briefly looked up, her eyes scanning the screen.
‘The latest in brainless Hollywood violence.’
Rafferty looked at her, concern on his face. He reached out a hand and felt her forehead. Rae moved her head, shrugging him off.
‘Are you feeling ill or something? You’d never buy this.’
‘No, I don’t. It’s borrowed.’
‘Who did you borrow it off.’
‘The video store down the road.’
Rafferty looked slightly shocked, his forehead furrowing. His fingers moved swiftly, rolling a long, thin joint, his eyes never looking down at it.
‘You actually rented a film?’
Rae nodded, her eyes still on the monitor, her fingers flying across the keyboard at speeds that most people only dreamt about.
‘Uh-huh. Is that a crime as well now?’
‘No,’ Rafferty replied, ‘I’ve just never known you to go and get something that you can’t keep.’
‘Oh well. At least I now know that I don’t want to buy it.’
‘True,’ she heard Rafferty reply.
The sofa undulated as Rafferty shuffled closer to Rae. Putting his head on her shoulder, he looked at the monitor. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he put the joint into his mouth and lit it, taking a long, contented drag on it. Sweet scented smoke drifted lazily into the summer air.
‘Want some of this?’ he asked, smoke escaping from his lips.
Reaching up a hand, Rae took the joint from him and placed it between her own lips. She let the drug laden smoke coil into her lungs, relaxing her, letting her mind drift for a while.
‘Whatcha doing?’ Rafferty asked.
Rae didn’t look up.
‘Flaming the bastards that are believing this ‘Informed Source’ on our forum,’ Rae replied as she handed the joint back to Rafferty. Rafferty groaned, his fingers briefly touching Rae’s to accept what she was offering.
‘He’s still around?’ his Dutch accented English lilting into Rae’s ears.
Rae nodded, bouncing Rafferty’s head on her shoulder.
‘Yep. I blocked another IP just before you got back but he’s got another one now. He must have one of those programs that keeps generating different IP addresses.’
Rafferty sighed, with what sounded like frustration. Rae loved listening to Rafferty talk. He spoke with a heavily accented voice, which Rae found attractive and sexy. Although she liked Rafferty, she had never fully decided where her feelings lay. She loved him as a friend but didn’t know if she would love him as a boyfriend. It was like there were boundaries between them preventing the friendship from going any further, a boundary that kept everything at a platonic level. She definitely found him attractive but didn’t really want to tell him. The truth was, Rae really didn’t know how to broach the subject, wasn’t sure how to tell her flat-mate that she found him attractive. Afraid that if she did tell him he would pack up and leave. She didn’t want that, preferring to leave everything as it was and hide her feelings away. She watched now as he took the laptop from her, the joint still trapped between his lips and started scrolling through the forum, reading the posts. If he was angry, he was keeping it to himself. Eventually, he leaned forward and put the computer on the glass-topped coffee table. He stood up and looked down at Rae, gesturing to the door, handing her the spliff with his free hand.
‘I’m nipping out before Sasha gets here. I need to go to the supermarket and grab some stuff. Do you need anything?’
Rae looked up at him, an evil grin spreading across her lips, the joint trapped in her fingers, in limbo between her mouth and the ashtray.
‘Have you run out of thingywhatsits?’ she asked, giggling.
Rafferty looked down at her, his head on one side, a semi-serious look in his eyes.
‘No, I’m fully stocked, thank you very much.’
Rae’s smile widened, her nose crinkling up, her eyes closing as she laughed to herself.
‘Hoping to get laid are we?’
Her eyes opened long enough to catch a glimpse of Rafferty’s expression. He wore an expression of mirth, a revealing smile playing his lips. One glimpse was enough and Rae dissolved into a fit of giggles.
‘Is there anything you want while I’m out?’ he asked again, his attempts to ignore his hysterical flatmate going unnoticed.
She took a breath and her laughing slowed.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘you can get me another packet of fags while you’re out.’
Rafferty held out a hand, gesturing for money.
‘Come on then, hand over some cash.’
Arching her back against the sofa, Rae drug into her jeans pocket, scrabbling around for some change. She pulled out a pile of coins and sorted some money out. The change jingled as Rafferty wrapped his long fingers around it.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
Rae bit her bottom lip, trying to contain her laughter. As the front door clicked shut, laughter spilled forth from her mouth, the hysterics taking over. Lying on the sofa, she wrapped her arms around herself and laughed. There was something about the thought of Rafferty having sex that tickled her. He was a tall, lanky, long-haired, bespectacled fan boy, the kind of man who spent all night, every night in front of his computer, surfing the internet for the latest news on George Lucas and the latest in sci-fi art. How he had managed to get himself a beautiful woman when he rarely left the flat, she didn’t know. Taking a drag on the spliff, she carried on with what she was doing.

------)()(------

The bright fluorescent lights of the 24-hour supermarket spilt out onto the pavement, washing away the dull light of the setting sun. A few people mingled inside, mainly shift workers and stoners, the only people who came out after the rest of the world had clocked off and gone home.
Rafferty turned into it, the automatic doors dinging and swishing open. The bright light forced him to blink and close his eyes for a second, letting them get used to sudden surge in light. The air inside was cool, the air conditioning being the only relief from the unrelenting heat. Stopping briefly, he turned and let the cool air wash over him, penetrating his pores. It was much nicer than the poky little fans that Rae had dotted around the flat. The flat, he had come to the conclusion, was a heat trap. The sun streamed in through the bedroom windows in the morning, before moving overhead and filling the spacious lounge with the last of the heat.
Moving away from the air conditioning unit, he grabbed a plastic shopping basket from a pile by the door. The store, as always during the night time hours, was quiet with only a few people out trying to pick up bargains. Voices yelled out to him as he entered the store.
‘Evening Rafferty,’ yelled one of the cashiers, ‘managed to escape the girlfriend yet?’
Rafferty turned, grinning. The staff had a more relaxed time at night when the managers would turn a blind eye to a bit of horseplay and friendly banter.
‘Hey Andy,’ he replied, ‘no, she’s going to be round later. Just picking up some of the good stuff.’
‘Rae not caught you then?’ another voice rang out.
‘She thinks I’m on a condom run,’ Rafferty yelled to the other voice.
Laughter peeled through the store as Rafferty walked on. He had been coming to this store ever since he had moved here, mainly because it was 24 hour meaning that he could go on junk food runs. Rae could be a junk food nazi when she wanted, not letting any pass through the door or her lips. If he wanted it, he had to go late at night and smuggle it in, a’la Midnight Express. He had it down to a tee, going out when it was dark and then bringing it back and hiding it. If Rae found it, it wouldn’t last. The only time Rae really ate anything that she claimed was bad was after they had been on a smoking session. Normally, too stoned to know better, she would accompany him on his midnight pilgrimage to the supermarket, filling a basket with the highest calorie, most sugar laden food she could find. Rae’s normal diet consisted of healthy, high fibre, low fat foods. But she still moaned that, no matter what she ate or what exercise video she used, she couldn’t lose weight. Rafferty couldn’t understand the whole weight loss thing with women. He didn’t understand why they thought they had to be stick thin to attract a man. He’d told Rae that he liked her just the way she was and it was what was inside not how she looked. Rae had dismissed him, saying that they were friends and that he wasn’t looking at her in the light that someone who wanted a relationship with her would. He had had to disagree with her, telling her that, friends or not, he still thought that she was beautiful. After that, she would smile and go back to her work.
Thanks to his late night excursions to the supermarket, he had gotten to know a lot of the people that worked the ‘graveyard shift’, the slow night time hours between normal operating hours. They would exchange greetings, chat and exchange the latest news and gossip. A lot of them, he had discovered, were closet fans of strange films, weird art and sci-fi. They would talk about whatever was happening in their little wrapped up world of strangeness. It was through some these closet fan boys that he had gotten back into role playing, acting out weird and eccentric fantasies in pubs and houses around London.
Turning into the personal hygiene aisle, he reached out and grabbed a packet of condoms, tossing them into the basket. They rattled around as he swung the basket up in front of him before settling into a corner.
He walked along the main aisle of the store, grabbing random things off shelves; cakes, crisps, the little cheese things he liked, before heading towards the checkout. Dumping the stuff on the conveyor belt he looked up and smiled at the cashier.
‘Hi G,’ he said, addressing the young looking man at the till.
‘Expecting a good night?’ the cashier known as G asked.
Rafferty grinned and nodded.
‘Hopefully, the girlfriend should be on her way round.’
Smiling, the cashier threw them into a bag, followed by the rest of the food he’d picked up. As he finished, the cashier leaned forward, his elbows resting on the conveyor belt.
‘Have you heard anymore about that book you were talking out?’
Rafferty leaned against the plastic till housing and spoke, his voice low, his thick Dutch accent rolling off his tongue.
‘I picked it up today. It’s sitting at home.’
The cashier grinned, showing off slightly crooked teeth.
‘So we’ll all be famous soon then?’ he asked.
‘Sure will,’ Rafferty replied, handing over money for his purchases, smiling.
‘So do you have a full group yet?’ the question lingered in the air.
‘Getting there,’ Rafferty replied, picking up the bag of shopping, ‘I’m going to post a message on the internet, see if there’s anyone in the area who would be interested.’
‘See you later, Raff,’ the cashier handed over the change, which Rafferty pushed straight into his pocket.
‘Will do,’ he replied, walking towards the door.
Approaching the exit, he stopped at the tobacco counter, suddenly remembering that Rae wanted cigarettes. A lady he’d never seen before was manning it.
‘Forty cigarettes please,’ he requested.
Her facial expression never changed from the bored one she’d worn since he’d stepped into the store. Rafferty stared at her for a moment longer than was courteous. He thought back to the book and to the passages contained within it and how the woman standing in front of him could fit into it all.. He studied her features. She looked young, only in her early twenties. Her skin was plastered in thick make up and her hair was scrapped tightly back into a ponytail. A little white nametag read ‘Marie’. For a moment, their eyes locked. Rafferty saw nothing but boredom beneath the heavily massacred eyelashes.
‘£7.78,’ her monotone voice demanded.
Handing over the cash, he threw the packets in with the rest of his shopping. One packet for Rae and one for him.
‘Have a nice evening,’ he smiled as he left the brightly lit shop, a nugget of an idea forming in his mind.

------)()(------

A packet of cigarettes landed softly in her lap, drawing her attention away from the computer screen. Rae looked up to see Rafferty standing in front of her, a carrier bag from the local supermarket clutched in one hand. Through the thin plastic, she could see a packet of condoms. Tilting her head to one side, she got a better look at the bag.
‘Looking forward to a good night?’ she asked.
He looked down at the bag, smiled and blushed before throwing it beside the sofa and flopping down next to her. She rested her head on his shoulder. A hand reached up and ruffled her hair.
‘I thought you said you were set for tonight,’ she said.
She felt Rafferty breath in and then laugh.
‘Well,’ he replied, ‘I suppose you never know.’
Rae smiled and gently kissed his shoulder.
‘How’s it going with Sasha?’ she asked.
She felt him sigh, watching his chest rise and fall.
‘I don’t know. She wants me to move in with her.’
Rae lifted her head and looked at him. His head turned and he looked at her, his eyes a matter of inches from hers.
‘Are you going to?
He shook his head, loose strands of hair tickling the corners of his mouth. Reaching out, he brushed them away.
‘No, I don’t feel comfortable with the idea.’
He put his hand on the back of her head and pushed her back on to his shoulder. She rested, enjoying the closeness.
‘Besides,’ he continued in his lilting voice, ‘I have you. I don’t want anyone else.’
A warm fuzzy feeling of friendship and love flowed through her and she smiled to herself. Wrapping an arm around Rafferty’s chest, Rae hugged him. She felt him respond; resting his head against hers, a hand coming up to stroke her bare arm.
‘It’s you and the comic that I want,’ he whispered into her hair, his lips brushing the top of her head. She felt him plant a kiss on her forehead. Closing her eyes, Rae savoured the moment. It was nice, even if only for a few moments, to feel wanted and cared for. Every time he did it, every time he hugged her, she felt like she was the only woman he wanted.
Suddenly the door buzzer went off, piercing the moment. Lazily, Rafferty unwrapped himself from around Rae and got up. She watched as he walked to the door, his slow gait transporting him across the spacious room. He pressed the buzzer and turned back towards her, a playful grin on his face. Smiling, she picked up her laptop and cigarettes and headed to her room.
‘Have a nice evening Raff.’

------)()(------

Rafferty waited beside the door, leaning on the white painted wall. Beyond the door, he could hear footsteps ascending the stairs.
Rafferty had come from a strange family. His father had been a sixties radical who had believed that his children should have a liberal and wide ranging upbringing and education. His mother, on the other hand, wasn’t very keen on the idea of a liberal upbringing for her children and it led to confusion in Rafferty’s life. To try and compensate, Rafferty was a high achiever at school, mastering five languages. He had graduated at the top of his class. Rafferty had become involved with the Dutch anarchist sub-culture. His father pretended to have no knowledge of Rafferty’s goings on while his mother outright disapproved of his activities. While in prison, Rafferty had done a degree in graphic art following a minor interest and if only to take his mind off what was happening to him.
Shaking his head to rid himself of thoughts of his past, Rafferty opened the door to his beautiful girlfriend. She floated through the door on a cloud of expensive perfume. Rafferty smiled. Taking her hand, he gently kissed her.
‘Hi,’ he whispered, looking deep into her eyes.
‘Hello,’ she replied, a little smile on her lips.
Leading her into his room, he carried on talking.
‘How was your day?’
‘Ok,’ she replied, ‘and yours?’
------)()(------

Rae sat cross-legged on her bed, a notepad balanced on her knees. The room was quite big, bigger than any she’d had before. It was unintentionally girly, a dolphin duvet cover spread out on the bed, candles standing on various surfaces, the walls painted a soft lilac. Rae didn’t consider herself a girly girl but when she had moved in she had wanted a place where she could relax and forget about the world outside. Her bed was pushed up against the wall directly behind the door. The ceiling was painted a light, almost white, blue, complete with fluffy little clouds and stars painted onto it. Heavy purple curtains were tied back from the window, allowing as much light as possible to flow in. Two set of shelves stood on either side of the door, filled with books, videos, DVD’s, pictures and a few ornaments that she had no room to put anywhere else. Propped on one of the shelves was her pride and joy; a six by four promotional card for Stargate signed by James Spader. A window was directly opposite the door, giving a view of the Victorian buildings behind it. It didn’t have the best view in the world but it did let the light in so she couldn’t really complain. A desk was pushed under the window upon which Rae had put her desktop computer, printer and laptop docking station. Opposite the bed was the few drawers and small wardrobe that contained her clothes. The TV stood on top of one of the sets of drawers, its aerial at a jaunty angle in order to get a signal for as many of the five terrestrial channels as possible.
The TV was turned up loud in an attempt to drown out the noise that was coming from Rafferty’s bedroom next door. The programme playing was nothing particularly exciting, just something to be used as background noise. Quiet, female moans of ecstasy floated through the paper-thin walls. The walls shook as the bed head knocked against it. Sasha, at least, sounded like she was enjoying herself. Rae didn’t mind but she knew that she would like sex a little more often. She hadn’t had a boyfriend for a while and didn’t particularly want one at the moment, although there was someone special in her life at that present moment. Whether it would turn into a full-blown relationship or not was to be seen. Past boyfriends always turned out to be too much hassle so Rae was in no rush to hurry to have another one. Her last boyfriend had cheated on her, the one before that had asked her to marry him within days of meeting her. Stupidly, she’d accepted but had broken it off when she’d moved to the capital and he’d started stalking her. He’d turn up without warning, coming into her places of work and demanding that she leave to be with him. He’d spent hundreds of pounds on train fares and hotels and then followed her around, waiting for her. She’d told him where to get off, telling him that she didn’t want to be with him anymore and that all the following her around was pissing her off. The stalker boyfriend hadn’t taken this very well, bombarding her with phone calls and, when he finally got access to the Internet, e-mails. She’d blocked his e-mail address but he just started going to her websites and leaving long, pleading messages in her guest book. Eventually, she’d changed her phone number, e-mail address and locks and told him to leave her alone. After a while, he took the hint and he stopped trying to get in touch. Unfortunately, the incident had pushed her into a dark cavern of stress related depression, which had required a course of drugs. The drugs, she had felt, had messed more with her head than her ex had, causing a multitude of problems. Rae was glad to finally be free of them and living her own life again instead of the life that the drugs and doctors had recommended. Many a late night talk with Rafferty had helped sort out a lot of the problems she had been encountering. He made a good sounding board, a good listener and giver of advice. She liked Rafferty a lot because of that, because he was always open to listen to her, as she was for him.
Taking her mind off the past and the furious sex that was happening in the next room, Rae scribbled at the notepad. It was the basis of the next strip. Once Rafferty had finished getting his end away, he could have it and get started on illustrating it. Her idea was based around the recent messages on their site’s forum. She had titled it TTLF – R4R – WTF?!

PANEL 1

R & R are sitting on the sofa, the laptop between them, eyes agog, jaws open.

PANEL 2

The laptop screen. Rumours and accusations are written on the screen, slowly getting more outrageous.
TTFL is ending.
Rae is pregnant with Rafferty’s baby.
Rafferty is gay.

PANEL 3
They look at each other.
Rafferty: “What do you want to do?”

PANEL 4
Rae shrugs.
Rae: “I don’t know.”

PANEL 5
A miscellaneous school.

PANEL 6
Inside the school, a young kid, probably no older than 9 or 10, sits at a computer terminal, typing. In front of him, on the monitor, the words Rafferty is gay are appearing on the screen.

The banging of the headboard was getting quicker, distracting Rae from the writing on her notepad. The moans and gasps got louder, increasing in frequency. Picking up the remote to the TV, Rae turned it up, her eyes focused on the program that was playing, trying to shut off what was happening. She lay back, her head hitting the pillows. Suddenly a scream pierced the air and everything went quiet again. The only sound was the TV playing.
‘Thank fuck,’ said Rae.

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Rafferty and Sasha lay in the light of the dying sun, arms and legs wrapped around each other. Rafferty wasn’t sure how much longer this relationship was going to last. Sasha was starting to become overbearing, doing what his ex had done. She wanted marriage and babies and she wanted it now. She wasn’t getting any younger, she said, her biological clock was ticking. But it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted the flat, the strip and Rae. He wanted a simple life. But more than anything else, he wanted to be famous. He wanted to get his art and the comic strip out to a wider audience, to get recognition for all the work that he did. He felt her fingers reach out and stroke his face, closing his eyes as talon like finger nails gently scratched his skin, sending shivers of ecstasy down his spine.
‘Move in with me,’ she whispered.
His eyes snapped open, his pupils instantly contracting, the fateful words hitting his brain like a hammer. His reply was short and curt.
‘No.’
He pulled away from her, lying on his back, putting a little distance between them.
‘We’ve had this discussion. Sasha,’ Rafferty’s heart raced as he spoke, the words she had just spoken still hot in his mind, ‘I’m happy here. I don’t want to move, I don’t want marriage and I don’t want kids.’
Reaching to the bedside table, he picked up a packet of cigarettes. Shaking one free, he continued.
‘I’m happy with the flat, with the comic strip and with Rae. I don’t want to move.’
He caught Sasha staring at him, anger in her eyes.
‘It’s always about what you want, isn’t it Rafferty?’ her anger obvious, ‘you never think about me.’
Rafferty took a deep drag on the cigarette and exhaled the smoke into the air, watching it curl and curve through the shafts of sunlight.
‘You’re right,’ he said, ‘it’s all about me. I’ve had one shit relationship and I have no plans on having another one. My last girlfriend tried to force me into marriage. I will not be pressured into doing what you want. This is my life and I’ll do what I damn well please.’
Her eyes glazed over, tears shining in the corners of her eyes.
‘I thought you loved me,’ she whispered.
Stubbing out the cigarette, Rafferty turned to look at her. The more stressed or angry he got, the more his Dutch accent would flow through in conversation.
‘Maybe I did and maybe I still do but right now I’m starting to hate you. I’m sick of listening to your whining about what you want. You never ask me what I want. I’m sick of going out with your friends to the places you want to go. I’m sick of listening to how I should give up my life just to fit into yours. I’ve had enough.’
Tears were rolling down her cheeks but Rafferty felt no remorse. Normally, he might have done but right now he felt nothing but emptiness. A tight ball of red-hot anger formed in his stomach. He didn’t want to be forced into anything again. The last relationship had been bad enough and he didn’t want to have to go through it again.
‘I’ve greatly over-estimated you,’ she said, ‘I thought you were kind and sympathetic. How wrong I was.’
‘Yes, how wrong you were.’
‘I’m leaving.’
‘Fine. Go.’
He turned away from her, looking out of the window. The last few rays of sunlight were turning red, bathing the room in soft light. He listened as she gathered her things and could hear her slowly dressing. There was an embarrassed silence in the room. Eventually, Rafferty heard the bedroom door and then the apartment door slam shut. Slowly he pulled himself from bed and found a pair of trousers. Pulling them on, he opened his bedroom door and walked out into the living area.
The book bag lay on the dining room table, its aura calling to Rafferty. Reaching out, he picked it up. With Sasha gone and Rae holed up in her room, he now had the time to look at the book in the bag. Sitting at the dining room table, he slowly slid the heavy book from the bag, feeling its weight, his fingers caressing its leather cover. Putting it on the table, he anticipated opening it, his fingers lightly brushing over it. He knew that this was a book of great power and was the knowledge of how to get this power. Power, which he knew he would get him what he, wanted. Slowly, carefully, Rafferty let the cover of the book fall open.

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Balanced in the cradle of Rae’s crossed legs was her laptop. Keys clicked as she tapped at the keyboard, words magically appearing in the chat program that she had open. She was chatting to her ‘special person’. He was from London, tall with blue eyes and blonde dreadlocks. In real life, his name was Pete Silver. On-line he was known as ‘Dr_Eric_Vornoff’. Rae had met him through an Internet dating site during a phase of wanting to be with someone. Instead of it ending after a few e-mails, her chats with Pete had gone on for many months until they were chatting via the Internet every night. Soon after, they met in real life, just to find out what the other really did look like. Both were happily surprised. Now they regularly met for coffee and chat in real life without the restraint of keyboards and modems. Rae liked him but couldn’t decide if she wanted anything to happen between them or not. Previous conversations with Rafferty had led her to believe that she wasn’t ready for another relationship just yet. Every time she looked into Pete’s azure blue eyes her heart would melt and she would remember why she liked him so much. Pete was sexy and funny and intelligent and many other things that Rae would forget whenever she stared into his eyes. All she knew was at that moment she was arranging their next coffee date. It was nowhere exciting, just the coffee shop in Victoria Station where they could wile away the hours drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes and chatting. Very few places in the capital would allow them to smoke indoors anymore. They were relegated to the street in all weathers to feed their addiction to nicotine. Her fingers hit the keys as she chattered away, trying to think of a time. Words appeared on her computer screen.
Dr_Eric_Vornoff: How about mid-day? I can buy you lunch.
She smiled to herself and poised her fingers over the keys, thinking. Slowly she typed a reply.
Writer_Rae: That would be nice, thank you.
Hitting the return key she watched as it appeared below the message that Pete had just sent.

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In his room, Rafferty sat on the bed. Like Rae, his legs were crossed and balanced in the middle of them wasn’t his laptop but the heavy, dark book. His fingers moved slowly across the page, tracing the words, his lips slightly moving. The words were coming to life beneath his very eyes, everything was starting to make sense. Rafferty’s extensive knowledge of French translated the book, his free hand scribbling away on a note pad.

The victim, the book read, should be secured to the altar. Their arms should be left to dangle towards the ground. Once everyone is gathered, the High Priest should open up the passageway between the worlds. Raising his arms to the heavens, he should begin.

HIGH PRIEST: I call upon démons foncés to open the doorway between our world and the next. Come and accept the sacrifice that we have awaiting you.

ORDER OF THE ANCIENTS: Come.

Stepping up to the victim, the High Priest should place the sacred chalice beneath one of the victim’s wrists and slowly slice. The blood should be caught in the chalice and mixed with wine. Holding the chalice heavenwards, the High Priest should recite the following.

HIGH PRIEST: Give your blessing to this blood and the power that it carries. Fill us, your loyal subjects, with the power contained within.

The chalice is passed within the group and the Order of the Ancients drink from it. Once everyone has drunk their fill, the High Priest approaches the victim again.

Taking a deep breath Rafferty paused for a second. Placing the notepad within the book, he closed the heavy tome and slid down from the bed, intending to finish later what he had started.


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A knock on her bedroom door pulled Rae away from the computer screen. Sitting up straight, she looked at the door.
‘Yes?’ she asked the closed wooden door.
‘It’s me,’ came Rafferty’s voice.
Rae rolled her eyes and sighed.
‘I know it’s you. Who else would it be?’
There was a pause while her flatmate considered what she’d just said.
‘True,’ came the reply which was followed by a pause, ‘anyway, do you fancy going to the pub?’
Rae turned to look at the clock on her video machine. The dividing full stop flashed and the time rolled over to 22.00. Fifty minutes till last orders was called.
‘Ok,’ she said, ‘let me grab my bag.’
Turning back to the computer she quickly typed.
Writer_Rae: Ok, got to go.
Rae always typed in long form, hating the shortened versions of words that most people used.
Writer_Rae: Flatmate wants to go to pub. May as well join him.
Click. The message floated away into the ether. A second later one returned.
Dr_Eric_Vornoff: Enjoy. I’ll catch up with you later and we’ll arrange a date.
Writer_Rae: <laughs> At least we have a time.
Dr_Eric_Vornoff: True. Later Rae.
Writer_Rae: Later Pete. Have a nice evening.

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The Goose was a village pub in the middle of the big city. Everyone knew everyone and any tourists that dared to wander in were welcomed with open arms. A jukebox played music that wasn’t or wouldn’t be in the charts, while people sat around a well used pool table, drinking, smoking and playing pool.
It was a traditional English pub, all old beams and creaking floorboards. It was a little rundown with carpet peeling away from the floor, the worst parts being held down with heavy-duty tape. Old plaster flaked away from some of the walls, occasionally causing little flurries of dust whenever a train passed beneath the building. A few burnt out light bulbs created dark corners while the bar looked a bit tatty. Copper sheeting covered the main bar, decorated with indents all along it. A smiling, hippy barmaid stood at one end of the bar, enjoying a chat with a regular.
Rafferty and Rae walked in and approached the bar. Behind them, the old oak door slammed shut, the glass rattling in its frame as it did. Rae dumped her bag onto the bar, one hand supporting it to stop it from sliding away on the polished copper surface. The barmaid turned to them and smiled, before putting her cigarette in a nearby ashtray and walking up to them.
‘Evening guys,’ she said, the genuine smile not leaving her lips, ‘what can I get you?’
‘The usual please,’ Rafferty ordered, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. Rafferty and Rae had recently discovered that they were well known enough in the pub to have a ‘usual’. They had found this a little strange, as they hadn’t really been out a lot over the recent months. But that didn’t seem to matter. In this little corner of London, everyone knew everyone else.
‘That’ll be a pint of bitter and a pint of cider then,’ the barmaid stated, smiling at being able to remember their drink order.
Rae sneezed, hiding her face in a hand. No matter what time of year it was, her allergies always seemed to act up. In summer her nose was warm, runny and chapped while in winter it was cold, runny and chapped. Reaching into a pocket, she extracted a piece of tissue and wiped away the mucus. Every since she had moved to London she refused to leave the house without a tissue somewhere about her person. It seemed to be something to do with London because whenever she visited her family, her runny nose and allergies magically disappeared. She came to the conclusion that tonight her allergies were being provoked because the pub was especially dusty. She could see a thin layer of dust on a shelf behind the bar. But, being an old building, it was to be expected.
‘Cheers,’ she said, as a pint of cider appeared in front of her. Quickly she pushed the tissue back into a pocket.
‘Not a problem,’ Rafferty replied, picking up his glass and clinking it against Rae’s. He handed over a fistful of change, which the friendly barmaid took and threw into a nearby till.
Rae turned only to find herself looking into the chest of one of the regulars. Looking up, she smiled.
‘Evening Ali,’ she said.
The larger than life man returned her smile and grabbed her in a bear hug, her feet leaving the floor. Drops of cider and beer mingled and hit the threadbare carpet. He put her down and carried on smiling.
‘How you doing, girl?’ he asked.
She shrugged and nodded. At one point Rae and Rafferty had always been in the pub, Rae had held a bar job there for a while as she had looked for proper job. She’d also been working in a coffee shop at the same time. She knew all the regulars and she enjoyed seeing them from time to time when she had a rare evening out.
‘Enjoying working for myself. Having a lie in every day. And how are you doing?’ she asked.
‘I’m doing ok. Miss seeing you behind the bar. Is there no way we can get you back?’
Rae looked at the floor and shook her head, strands of chilli pepper red hair hiding her face. She looked up and met Ali’s eyes.
‘’Fraid not,’ she replied, ‘I’m happy not having to deal with customers or management anymore. I like that my only worry is whether I’m going to be able to pay the bills this month as opposed to whether I’m going to lose my job for something I didn’t do.’
The big man nodded, listening to her every word.
‘I know you weren’t happy towards the end and that you just wanted to get out but don’t you miss us?’ he asked, a sad look on his face.
Rae smiled sweetly and reached out to stroke his arm.
‘Of course I miss you but I only live up the road. You know you can drop by anytime you want. Just give me a call before you turn up.’
He smiled and gestured towards a table.
‘Fancy joining us?’
She nodded.
‘Sure,’ she replied, before turning to Rafferty, ‘come on, we’re sitting down.’

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For the next hour, they sat around a small table that was, at any one point, housing at least ten other people. All of them were regulars and they all came from different walks of life. The builder sat next to the lawyer while the banker chatted to the television repairman. It was a little clique that had many members, all of who came and went as they saw fit. Some wouldn’t be seen for a couple of months but, when they eventually turned up again, they were welcomed with open arms, friendly jibes and offers of cigarettes and drinks. They talked about everything and nothing, the usual pub banter; the weather, tourists, the tube, politics, racism, all of it and more came up in conversation. At any one point, any member of the little group was involved in at least three different debates or conversations, regularly having to turn to the person beside them or standing up to yell across the table, careful to not knock over any drinks or elbow other members around the cramped table.
Glasses came and went, full ones being put down and empty ones returned to the bar to be washed. People reached over each other to hand out drinks, drops and drips of different drinks hitting the people that were being reached over. The rained on people jokingly complained about getting wet. A barrage of obscene jokes spilling forth after any comment that was made. Laughter regularly filled the air around the table. Full, overflowing ashtrays were swapped for empty ones. That night, the main topic of conversation was the upcoming election and which way everyone was going to swing.
After what seemed like a matter of minutes, the bell signalling that all services had ended, sounded out across the bar. For a moment, everyone was quiet, a minute of silence for the passing of another evening. Sighing, the group drained their drinks and returned the glasses and dirty ashtrays to the bar before heading out in to the dark, muggy night.
Outside, they all said their goodnight’s before heading their separate ways, another meeting of the ‘Piss Up Posse’ coming to an end until the next time they met.
Rae and Rafferty walked along Bayswater Road, James, one of the more regular members of the group, accompanying them. Apparently, he lived not far from Rae and Rafferty’s flat but, as with everyone in the pub, no-one was quite sure where anyone else lived. They chatted quietly among themselves, carrying on the pub conversations that they had left behind a few moments before. Eventually, they reached the turning where they would go their separate ways. James hugged both of them before disappearing along a dark road. Rae and Rafferty carried on, eventually reaching their own building.

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The room was dark, lit only by the light of the moon. Quietly, Rafferty tiptoed out of his room and into the blue light that filled the room. Rae believed that he was sleeping off the alcohol and that was fine by him. He didn’t need her knowing where he was going. She would only question him and he could do without an interrogation from Rae. Knowing it would be cool outside he swung a jacket around his shoulders. The coolness of the night was a welcome relief from the searing heat of the day but still cold enough to penetrate the thin t-shirt he was wearing. Slowly, trying not to wake Rae, he slipped out of the flat, holding the door as it began to close, and into the dark stairwell below.

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Rafferty waited in the shadows of the tree, his back up against the trunk, hands deep in his pockets. He scanned the dark park around him, watching, waiting. Slowly, he drew his hands out of his pockets, a packet of cigarettes lying in them. Taking one out, he lit a cigarette, the red tip of it glowing like a beacon in the dark. A childhood fear of the dark came back to play on his nerves. A rustle in the grass caused the longhaired artist to look round. Focusing in the darkness, he swung round, his heart pounding, to look at the source of the noise. Through a light mist, he could see a shadowy figure moving towards him. His heart raced, feeling a fear rising in him. Even in the cool of the night, a slight sweat coated his forehead, beads forming under his glasses. Reaching out a long finger, he brushed it away, wiping the warm salt water on his trousers. The figure became clearer, gliding through the night and the mist.
‘Rafferty?’ a familiar voice echoed through the darkness.
Rafferty sighed as he recognised the voice of his brother. Out of the mist and into the canopy of the tree, Kristjan stepped, wearing a long coat. Kristjan, Rafferty’s twin brother was older by two minutes. He was slightly taller but shared the same angular face and piercing eyes as Rafferty. His hair was short and spiked, maximum style with the minimum effort. The blue light of the moon filtered through the leaves, lighting both of them, reflecting in the two pairs of identical brown eyes that stared at each other. Rafferty took another drag on the cigarette, attempting to slow his racing heart and calm his sudden fear. As the nicotine entered his bloodstream so his nerves began to calm.
‘So what’s this about?’ Kristjan asked, ‘why meet in the middle of the park at a stupid hour of the night?’
Rafferty looked up at him, his glasses having slid down his nose, lending an evil look to his already bony face.
‘Remember that book I told you about?’
He watched as his brother nodded, a look of mild confusion on his face.
‘It can help us Kristjan, help us get whatever we want.’
Rafferty heard his brother sigh.
‘We know this already Raff.’ Kristjan exhaled, ‘we’ve been waiting on you getting this book and translating it. Everyone’s relying on you. So what do we need to do?’
Rafferty flicked the cigarette to the floor, listening as the early morning dew extinguished it.
‘There’s a series of rituals that need to be performed in a certain order. Each ritual signifies something; wealth, lust and power.’
‘Right,’ he heard his brother reply, ‘and how do we go about this?’
‘Wealth isn’t too hard,’ Rafferty replied, ‘lust and power require living, breathing humans, no substitutes.’
He reached into a pocket and pulled out a crumpled packet of cigarettes, putting a fresh one between his lips. The flame from his lighter lit the darkness, surrounding them, briefly, in a warm glow.
‘Continue,’ Kristjan requested, crossing his arms in front of him, his head tilted to one side, suspicious of what his brother was about to come up with.
‘The power ritual requires a live sacrifice, an innocent victim which will strengthen our aim.’
Rafferty caught the look his brother gave him, a look that said he wasn’t convinced by what Rafferty was saying.
‘The power that is released when someone dies is amazing and we can harness this power to further our gain. But as I was saying we should not have many problems finding a victim.’
He watched as Kristjan raised an eyebrow. Rafferty shrugged and continued.
‘There are plenty of homeless people in London, people that will do anything for food. Besides, I may have already have found us someone.’
There was the quiet breaking of twigs as Kristjan shifted his position on the dew soaked grass, listening to his brother. Rafferty licked his lips and took another drag on the cigarette that was clutched in his right hand.
‘The lust ritual is the most interesting. The ritual is a ceremony of power, of having control over a person. It will bring us everything we’ve wanted; control of our lives and control of those around us.’
Rafferty stepped up to his brother, their eyes level. Lowering his head, Rafferty looked up at Kristjan and smiled.
‘Imagine it,’ he whispered to Kristjan, ‘everything we’ve ever wanted.’